


Reprieve

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's stop here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprieve

"Let's stop here," Cloud says, and anchors his sword into the earth. The Lunar Subterrane is unforgiving, but the Butterfly Edge penetrates the rock with relative ease.

"You often wish to stop," Firion replies. He's not looking at Cloud; the weapons specialist is still a few paces ahead, checking about for ... anything, really. Cloud wants to say he's picked a good spot, but lets Firion inspect the cliffs and hills himself. He watches, noting the stiffness in his friend's shoulders, the way he carries himself with care. _He's getting worse._ When Firion does turn to him, it's to say, "It's not because of me, is it?"

Cloud considers fibbing, but Firion is asking because he already knows. "Terra's doppelgangers pack a wallop," he offers. "You took a bad hit."

"Nothing a Cure spell didn't heal up nicely," Firion retorts, looking annoyed as he holds his ground. He's struggling to give the impression that he isn't hurt, and is actually doing rather well. He appears fine, if one were to look at him with an untrained eye. He hides discomfort well, of course. They all do; they're all soldiers in one world or another.

But that only means none of them can fool any of the others. Cloud has seen Firion struggling, favoring one shoulder over the other. Cloud knows from sparring with her that Terra's Flood spell is particularly devastating -- and one of her last doppelgangers managed to get Firion in his right arm. Cloud recalls the way the pillar of water sent the rebel warrior into one of the craggy hills, the sickening thud....

They stare at one another for a few moments. Cloud keeps his expression even; Firion maintains a mild scowl. "I'm fine," he insists.

Cloud gestures to the overarching rock currently shielding them from enemy eyes. "It's getting cold, and we're getting tired. You can't say this isn't a good place to rest."

"Until someone brings that slab of rock down upon us," Firion mutters, finally coming a bit closer.

Cloud lets that go; Firion's just upset because he thinks he's a liability. "Want me to look at your shoulder?"

In response, Firion unslings his bow with a flourish, nocks an arrow, and fires. It strikes true, lodging into the rocky mountainside. Cloud glances at the quivering fletching, then looks at his companion.

"Was that necessary?"

"How did I let a manikin get the best of me, anyway?" Firion berates himself, and replaces his bow while he marches to the arrow. He pulls it out of the rock, the motion fueled by frustration yet hindered by his injury.

Cloud saw his slip-up, and Firion knows it, but he chooses to ignore the other's pain and save him face, regardless. "It happens," he offers with a shrug. He's never been much good at consoling people, but he knows battle. "Happens to the best of us."

"Still, a _manikin_?" Firion punctuates the distaste with a spin of the Longinus. The change of arms makes Cloud blink. No matter how often he witnesses this one-man army shuffle weaponry, it's always unbelievable. Firion starts practicing some forms, fighting imaginary foes with skill and fluidity that's fascinating to watch.

Still, his shoulder. "You should rest it awhile," Cloud advises. He elects to sit down, leaning back against the mountainside.

Firion ignores him, continuing with his practice. Normally they would spar, but Cloud is not going to encourage this. Instead, he makes himself comfortable, resting his hands behind his head and settling in to watch his companion over-exert himself. _If he won't listen..._ Cloud closes his eyes and maybe even dozes for a while -- he's not sure. It certainly doesn't seem like much time has passed before Firion comes to sit next to him.

Cloud opens one eye. Longinus is on the ground and Firion is working the muscles in his shoulder with his other hand. "Now do you want me to look at it?"

"Sorry," Firion huffs, still irritated.

Cloud grunts an affirmative, accepting the apology. He fishes through their shared pouch for a potion as the other man removes his cloak and most of his gear. Cloud shakes his head as the weapons pile up, wondering for the umpteenth time how Firion carries them all and still fights as well as the rest of them. "This should do the trick," he says, producing a small phial.

Firion has removed his plate armor, though he looks uneasy about having his arsenal all over the subterrane. "Thanks," he says, turning around so he faces Cloud. "Though this is a waste of a potion."

Cloud rebukes him, "If we don't fix this now, you might still be favoring it the next time we're attacked. We can get other potions," he adds pointedly.

"You're right," Firion acquiesces. "You really are the rational one," he adds with a weak laugh. He inhales sharply through his nose when Cloud rubs the ointment into his skin, and keeps his teeth gritted. It _does_ hurt more than he's been letting on, Cloud confirms, and swallows the scolding he'd been prepared to give. Then he smiles, thinking of Zax, and how Zax used give him grief over trying too hard, until....

"What is it?" Firion asks, sounding concerned.

Cloud starts and looks up. "Huh?"

The weapons specialist only stares, searchingly. "You looked ... sad."

"Didn't mean to." Cloud caps the empty phial and tosses it aside. They're trudging through a post-apocalyptic wasteland and he's dwelling on years past. "Anyway," he goes on, in an attempt to distract himself, "I'm not the rational one. Don't put that kind of pressure on me." _Zax would tell me...._ He shakes the memories away. Zax isn't here. "You all right now?"

Firion tests his shoulder, rotating his arm and flexing the muscles. "Definitely getting there." He pauses a beat, and then ventures, "Are _you_?"

Cloud leans back against the wall of rock. "Yeah, just ... memories," he finishes lamely. "Of home." He doesn't really feel like getting into it.

"I understand." Firion lowers his head. There is a pregnant pause, but then Firion yawns. "Potion's making me sleepy. Would you mind...?" If he's exaggerating for Cloud's benefit, Cloud isn't going to call him on it.

"No, go ahead." Cloud lifts an arm so Firion can settle in comfortably. "I'll give you a couple hours, then we'll scrounge up something to eat." Probably hardtack, he figures. It's usually hardtack.

"You don't want a nap?" Firion already sounds half-asleep. He's lying against Cloud on his good side, head pillowed on Cloud's shoulder.

"No." Cloud lowers his arm and settles it around his friend's shoulders. "Maybe later."

Firion drifts off; Cloud watches the stars.

 

~fin.


End file.
